


Practice

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov cashes in on Sulu’s offer to teach him fencing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon's "Chekov is a brainy kid, but he doesn't know much in the way of self-defense, so Sulu decides to give him regular sparring lessons. Bonus points if Sulu teaches Chekov how to handle a sword." prompt on the [Star Trek ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=909076#t909076).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The gym on the Enterprise is small and muggy, or at least it feels that way, with Hikaru half into his set and breathing heavy. His skin’s got a thin sheen of sweat, and he’s taken his shirt off to counter that, which doesn’t put him in the best position to greet Pavel.

But he had no idea today would be the day, of all days, that Pavel would deem physical activity just as important as extracurricular engineering lessons. Pavel’s a genius with a PADD but not much for self-defense. He’s fit, of course, trim and in shape, like everyone in Starfleet. But he’s never held a sword in his life, and he looks a little nervous as he strolls up to Hikaru, still in his gold uniform.

He’s biting his lip, and he brushes a few curls out of his eyes. Adorable. Like always. Hikaru’s not sure how he’s going to get through this, and he sucks in a breath and stands up straighter.

“I am not interrupting, am I?” Pavel asks, eyes bright in the artificial ceiling lights, stopping at the edge of the floor mat and slipping out of his shoes. “We were not wery good wizh times...”

“It’s fine.” Hikaru does his best to smile genuinely and not lecherously—Pavel wobbles a bit as he crosses the padded floor lining. It’s meant not to hurt when trainees fall onto it, not to knock anyone off balance. Pavel doesn’t visit the gym much.

Hikaru reaches out a hand to help him, and Pavel takes it. He stands a few centimeters from Hikaru, clutching Hikaru’s palm for balance, and he asks, “Will you teach me?” What, he doesn’t specify. Hikaru nods and hands him the fencing sword, dulled for practice. Then he’s waking off the mat and strolling to his bag, plucking another fold out one out and swishing it through the air. It snaps to attention, sturdy as a solid model. Then it’s back to the mat, where Pavel’s examining the metal in his hands. He looks nervous. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

“Of course not.”

Pavel’s chewing his bottom lip again. It’s obvious he trusts Hikaru, but he’s out of his element and doesn’t know how to handle the weapon in his hand. Hikaru leaves a few paces between them, lifting his sword.

“They’re dulled, don’t worry. We can’t hurt each other. We can just spar a little, to get you warmed up.”

“Should I remowe my shirt?” Pavel tilts his head like this is a perfectly innocent question, and Hikaru tries his best to keep his face steady.

The logical answer is ‘no.’ But instead he says, throat a little dry, “Sure.”

And just like that, Pavel’s stripping, right in front of Hikaru’s lucky eyes, peeling the gold over shirt and the black undershirt right over his head. He drops the sword beside him. His body is lithe and pale, skin creamy, stomach flat and nipples small and rosy. Cute as a button. He’s just blossoming into adulthood, a year or two behind Hikaru, and it shows. He folds his shirts up and walks over to place them beside his boots, and then he wobbles back over, arms out for balance. He picks up his sword again, brandishing it childishly, weakly, grip all wrong and stance a joke.

He’s the cutest thing Hikaru’s ever seen. Distracting as all hell. It’s a good thing Hikaru got a good work out before this, because he knows the day’s a write off from this point on. He doesn’t even bother lifting his own sword.

Pavel must see that, because he lowers his and mumbles, pink lips frowning slightly, “Am I doing it wrong?” Before Hikaru can even answer, he continues, “Ah, I am sure I am. Show me how? Please?”

Hold could anyone resist that? Hikaru nods and drops his sword behind himself, walking over and around Pavel. He could just say it. But Pavel asked him to _show_ it. And Hikaru’s got scruples, but he’s no saint. He can only resist so much. He sidles up against Pavel’s back, their skin brushing faintly, and he catches Pavel’s shiver at the cold feel of Hikaru’s sweaty six-pack. He wraps his arms around Pavel’s body, touching both wrists, even though only the right one holds a sword. He’ll let go if Pavel pulls away. But Pavel doesn’t.

Pavel lightly fingers Hikaru’s left hand, stroking the knuckles holding him. Hikaru slides the other set down the hand covering the handle, clasping over it, finger over finger.

Pavel shudders and sucks in a breath, lashes falling half-down. His lips are parted. He looks _unbelievable._

And he’s all Hikaru’s, alone in the empty gym, half naked and wrapped in Hikaru’s arms. It takes every ounce of self-control Hikaru has to keep his voice professional, explaining, “You want to hold it slightly curved, like this. Move your thumb here.” And then he does something he absolutely should not do—he nudges Pavel’s foot with his, kicking Pavel’s legs subtly apart, spreading them just that tiny bit wider. “Bend your knees.” He nudges Pavel’s shoulder with his chin, moving down with Pavel, just that little bit. “There, that’s better.”

Pavel leans his head back, turning to look at Hikaru, curls sliding over Hikaru’s cheek. His voice is very quiet, maybe just for the proximity. “Like zhis...?”

Hikaru’s grip tightens. “Yeah.”

It’s going to be a long lesson. Or at least, feel that way. Hikaru coughs suddenly, slipping back. His hands should fall, but they don’t. They slide all the way back along Pavel’s arms like snakes, only leaving when they meet the empty air. He walks back around. Pavel lowers the sword.

Hikaru picks his back up. Turns. Raises his, nudging Pavel’s gently. “We’ll just... we’ll just knock them around a bit first, so you get the hang of holding it.”

Nodding, Pavel licks his lips. It leaves them more vivid, glistening and moist. Hikaru tries not to stare at them. Tries to pay attention. He needs to make a good impression: be impressive. He knocks his sword lightly against Pavel’s, making a sharp, metallic clink.

Pavel swipes his back tentatively, and Hikaru counters easily, trying not to laugh. “Don’t hesitate so much, or we’ll never get anywhere.”

Flushing slightly, Pavel nods. He jabs forward with a little more confidence, Hikaru knocking it aside again. 

Pavel tries a different angle.

Hikaru counters. He works into a rhythm of defense, letting Pavel hit away.

It goes faster, faster, erratic and not proper form, but not terrible for a beginner. At this point, it’s just building confidence and a connection to the sword. Feeling it right. It swishes through the air with rapid succession, Pavel’s youth and enthusiasm trickling out, bristling energy, if unpracticed and sloppy. A few times, Hikaru’s parries make Pavel stumble back. But Pavel tries again at Hikaru’s inviting smile. It doesn’t take long for Pavel to be breathing heavily, almost starting to sweat.

Hikaru blocks a particularly fast strike particularly hard, and that makes Pavel cry out and drop the sword, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry.”

Hikaru says, “It’s fine,” and bends to pick it up. Pavel’s bending, too. Their fingers brush. Hikaru straightens with a jolt, cheeks burning. Pavel straightens without getting the sword, studying Hikaru hard, eyes bright and lips open to strain for more air. His curls have tumbled back over his eyes.

They’re standing so close, both shirtless and excited, adrenaline all through the veins. Pavel’s fingers wrap around Hikaru’s wrist, the one holding the sword, lifting it down.

And then Hikaru snaps, can’t help it, but Pavel seems to snap at the same time, and they’re leaning in together, lips already opening. They press into one another, and Pavel’s lips are every bit as plush and soft as they looked. Every bit as warm, every bit as wet. Pavel’s tongue snakes out. Hikaru sucks it into his mouth, tilting his head and closing his eyes. Pavel’s skin is all silk against him. So warm. It seems the perfect culmination of a miniature work out. An inevitable foray into other physical interests. Now that he’s got Pavel in his arms and kissing back, Hikaru thinks of all the times he wanted this and wonders why he never did.

If he had his way, it would never end. But there’s the familiar swish of opening doors, and they spring away from each other in a millisecond, Pavel nearly toppling over and Hikaru grabbing him just in time. Across the gym, Commander Spock’s walking to a corner with hanging weights.

As Pavel picks his sword back up, he asks perfectly casually, “I don’t zhink I am wery good at zhis... perhaps I could persuade you to giwe me regular lessons?”

Without thinking, Hikaru says, “You’re terrible—you’ll need a lot. Another after tomorrow’s shift?” He can still feel the lingering sensation of Pavel’s mouth on his.

Pavel beams like he’s just been complemented instead of insulted. “I would like zhat.”

Lifting his sword up, Hikaru says, “So would I.”

Pavel taps Hikaru’s sword with his, and they work back into a steady rhythm of give and take, waiting out tomorrow.


End file.
